


In Elysian Fields

by SouthernBird



Category: Rockman Zero | Mega Man Zero
Genre: Afterlife, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Bliss in Cyberspace, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Post Zero 4, The Ending that These Two Deserved, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 18:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16859275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernBird/pseuds/SouthernBird
Summary: Systems diagnostic: can he see? Minimally. Can he speak? Negative. Can he listen? Affirmative.Then, as flashes of a life he somehow understands is gone, through the muddle of faces of left behind comrades, he hears a soft voice, one that rattles his very meaning, the very glistening fibers of his cybernetic soul. With just a syllable, all the glass fractals piece themselves back together, and he is whole and seeing once more.





	In Elysian Fields

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JanitorBot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanitorBot/gifts).



> While this is shorter than I would ever admit I am willing to post, the writing bug bit and bit hard. If not for the discussions on discord with my fellow friends and if not for [JanitorBot](https://twitter.com/JanitorBot) posting this [extremely painful masterpiece](https://twitter.com/JanitorBot/status/1067838270610886657), I may not have posted anything before the end of 2018. Many thanks for the inspiration, and of course TheKatWarrior for reading it over and easing my mind.

_A crackle of a radio in his ear, a desperate, thriving plea of a voice that he had called a reason for hope, and a cackle of a man he swore bore the face of a nightmare he endured the shadow of for decades before—._

 

_With a roar of a mad man’s last stand, a true God of Destruction falls, and falls, and falls ever into a chaotic tailspin in comet trails of rouge._

 

_Then, abruptly with a high keen, the universe flatlines, and collapses into black._

 

-

 

A voice as gentle as a wind chimes along a caressing breeze whispers into the void and beckons, _“wake up.”_

 

Vision blurred and spotted, there is tepid sense of surreal floating that flutters along the non-senses like feathers in an autumn breeze. With a failure to process his own self, he can only determine that he is whole, yet scattered, splinters of his essence burning to cinders from morbid comets that drift down to a barren earth.

 

The desire to run a systems diagnostics fuels him and he is near pleading for such a reboot, but there is no whir of servos, no fritz of artificial life buzzing from his core— instead, he goes over the most basic of senses. It is, after all, all that he has left it seems.

 

 _Systems diagnostic_ : can he see? Minimally. Can he speak? Negative. Can he listen? Affirmative.

 

Then, as flashes of a life he somehow understands is gone, through the muddle of faces of left behind comrades, he hears a soft voice, one that rattles his very meaning, the very glistening fibers of his cybernetic soul. With just a syllable, all the glass fractals piece themselves back together, and he is whole and seeing once more.

 

“ _You’re here._ ”

 

What was just moments before a terrible vision of a behemoth birthed of the wicked and vile nature of humanity now fades into the splendor of an open field glowing the the prim peak of springtime. Here, there is no sun across a dismal vastness of space, yet the daylight is apparent,and all throughout his confusion, a breeze passes over him to calm and to soothe the burns that smolder down his back.

 

Perhaps he is dead, perhaps he should be lost in a void of nothing but permanent shut down, but as the field statics, that voice coos for him— then, there he is, a specter of rainbow shine, ever so patiently standing there in remarkable shock that there is a visitor in these Elysian fields.

 

"X."

 

With just an utterance of a name that weighs with his reverence, butterflies blossom forth from the folds of white flowers that Zero— yes, he was Zero— would have once disregarded with a glance. Now, his eyes behold the blooms, stares and knows that in spite of just meeting his literal maker, he is in a paradise that is as much a reflection of X as it should be.

 

The truth settles deep in the fathoms of his soul; a warrior has come to rest with the sole purpose of his raised blade.

 

Peaceful, vibrant, and glorious, X is ever the same as he was in life, smiling at him with such hindered sadness that Zero, now completely encompassed by this cybernetic afterlife where his partner has had to burrow down in because of all of his shortcomings in a war that should have never passed, can regard him with stilted relief.

 

Won— that war is won, and though Zero wishes that those eyes that hold his own were brimming with some other emotion than remorse, the warrior instead relishes that he has accomplished his mission to strike dead the monster that took so many innocent lives in the tattered journey for authority. With a raise of his sword and shield, the crimson warrior did so with vehemence, did so with the heralding trumpets of victory that accompanied him until the tolling bells of life diminished echoed around him in warping scrap and aching metal.

 

Exhaustion only creeps in the bated flutters of butterfly wings, and the lilies white dance in drunken waltzes before Zero smells the singe of ash and smoke.

 

_And what was once before him was a saint martyred for a world unbinding to his kindness is now a shell of a past life that was nothing short of empty and cold despite the piles of corpses of his replicants growing ever higher, higher to an unrepentant sky. Greens swirl hazy not with mercy and justice, but rather stare listless at a weapon of his own self as though it held the most regrettable of secrets._

 

_There is nothing but guilt, nothing but the edges of tiredness of a person so desperate for the calming chimes of peaceful sleep as the only red that meets his eyes are just the red of coolant that stains his hands and the hellscape. The smoke that wafts over his legs does nothing to cover up his sins, and does little to hide his crux, heavy and becoming heavier by the moment. Were this kind heart to break, the world might falter as well, and oh, is that not what happened?_

 

_Even hope dies a soundless death._

 

_Yet, were he there, would things have been so different? Were he there to smite the evils that were unleashed from his devil’s heart, would this saint have been so cruelly sacrificed?_

 

_Would X always love him?_

 

“Zero.”

 

The flashes of a smattered orange sky and desolated cityscape phase back into the placidity of death’s final course, and with a slackened reprieve of his shoulders, Zero lets his old burdens fall to simply be.

 

Sweet gaze must have noticed, for soon the flowers part as X makes his way to his partner, slipping down to kneel next to him. Quietness would once tighten Zero’s senses a taut as a drawn bow, but here he mellows, both of them watching an endless sky that pixelates effervescence. More moments that he can recollect pass, the sky ever such a tranquil blue, and the lack of weight of life’s weary weight sways the warrior until he leans against X with a withering prayer that he will not fall through a ghost’s veil.

 

He does not, and his jaw meets the shoulder of the other that bubbles rapture in his data stream.

 

X hums, a simple sound brimming with the languid elation that comes with an eternity ahead, then presses a tender kiss atop the crown of the red helmet. From where he slumps, Zero peers skyward, regarding the circlet floats cloud-like colors of hues galore towards an open amass of blue, ever lost into the scatters of pixelated drifts that break across the horizon.

 

The words crumble once, then twice, but the courage that derives from endless fight boils deep in his chest, and Zero’s lips part with resilience.

 

“I missed you,” the warrior breathes out, yet it cracks partway and feels less than so when the tone dips into all the emotions that surround X. For the kindness that swells in flows of the other’s presence, the warbot’s own hindrances still reminds him to hide the painful misgivings even though there is the warm happiness blooming from the turn of his cheek.

 

Though, a pause, thrumming with the ever profound truth that this plane of existence is now permanent; a hush, then a wistful inhale of air that is not even real—.

 

"I missed you terribly, but this is the last place I wanted you to be.”

 

Had those memories lost in the harbored the frayed circuits and jagged glass of self-imposed seals been fragmented only to be found in the gray snow of flickering monitors of abandoned labs, the words might would have held a more somber affront in tone only. Instead, this is another way X conveys all of those regrets, and while, yes, painful to hear, there is a further, threadbare meaning being it.

 

“The odds of survival in high velocity atmospheric descent were already low,” the red warrior chides with an exhaustion is does not truly feel, “and I knew that when I told them to transfer me; failure was never an option I could allow as an outcome.”

 

Once more, an inhale, sharp and methodical like a blade along a whetstone. “I know. I know…”

 

The two fall into companionable silence, though there is a nickering of tension that forms pinprick nuances along Zero’s back. Was his partner truly upset at the ending to their story together, that rather than be successfully transferred back to the Resistance camp to live out his life ever beside Ciel’s grace, he kneeled there with his hand slowly inching towards X’s own placed in the cradle of this thighs?

 

“Regardless, my mission was successful, and I have earned my rest. I have earned _you,_ and that is all I need to know _._ ”

 

And woe be him if X were to take his hand away, but their fingers thread together as though distance is only a memory. Nothing is said because nothing is all that is left in the spaces of their once hopes and dreams, all now thrown into the cosmos in belied prayers in the prospect of a child picking up the broken stars to begin a future anew.


End file.
